


How to Look After Brothers

by deathwailart



Category: The Hobbit (2012)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Brothers, Camping, Durin Family Feels, Family, Family Feels, Gen, Growing Up, Parenthood, Uncle-Nephew Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-06
Updated: 2013-01-06
Packaged: 2017-11-23 22:18:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/627117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deathwailart/pseuds/deathwailart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for hobbit kink.  Prompt: five times Fíli was told to mind his brother and one time Kíli was told to mind Fíli.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How to Look After Brothers

**i**  
The first time Fíli is all of five and Kíli is not even a month old, this squawking, shrieking, smelly little thing he's meant to be responsible for. Fíli doesn't think he's ever seen anything so ugly in all his life and the adults all laugh when he makes faces every time someone calls this new baby beautiful. Anyway, Kíli is a boy, boys aren't supposed to be beautiful but Fíli is five and no one ever listens to him unless they want to pinch his cheeks.  
  
He's five, he's too old to have his cheeks pinched every time he opens his mouth.  
  
Still, with his and Kíli's father gone, lost in the mines, and his uncle out working too or away, he gets to be the man of the house, trying his best to mimic uncle Thorin's stern expression. He has a little wooden sword and likes to appear at the door whenever someone knocks, too quick for his mother to catch. Sometimes he gets scooped up by the back of his tunic, called a wee badger by whoever happens to be at the door, big hands ruffling his hair and saying how great a warrior he'll be one day.  
  
“Fíli,” his mother calls and he looks up from playing with the toys Mister Balin made him, abandoning the oliphant and dragon battle in front of the fireplace to trot through to his parent's bedroom, peering around the door. “Can you watch Kíli for me darling?”  
  
“Mama,” he begins to complain even as he trots over to the bed, clambering up to sit alongside her. There's a cradle in the room that used to be his because Kíli is too little to share the room that has been Fíli's for as long as he can remember. He's glad, the stupid baby cries loud enough that he wakes Fíli up anyway. That's why his mother looks so tired and she looks especially tired now, petting his hair absently.  
  
He loves his mother and he's the man of the house when no one else is here so he peers down at Kíli dubiously before nodding.  
  
“There's my good boy,” she murmurs, stretching out on the bed, already asleep.  
  
He kisses her cheek and remembers getting to curl up with her in the afternoons, stories told in Khuzdul, her fingers in his hair. It's very hard not to resent his baby brother for stealing his mother away. He peers over the edge of the cradle again. Kíli is awake and burbling to himself, chubby legs and arms kicking away at the air; he looks less red and wrinkled every day but Fíli still thinks he's the ugliest thing he's ever set eyes upon. Their mother – because he has to share her, sometimes forgets when he's alone that it's not just him and her - shifts in her sleep and Fíli freezes, fingers wrapped around the edge of the cradle as he keeps looking down. His baby brother claps his tiny hands together and coos up at Fíli.  
  
For the first time Fíli thinks that maybe, _just maybe_ his brother won't be so bad as he lets a flailing fist take hold of his hand, whispering a story. It's how Dís finds them when she wakes up, happy gurgles from her youngest and a big smile from her eldest.  
  
**ii**  
Kíli becomes a partner in crime as soon as he's able to toddle; Fíli can't imagine life without his little brother, teaching him everything he knows so he won't be left behind. They get into all kinds of trouble and where one is found, the other isn't far behind to the point they're sometimes nicknamed the terrible twins despite the age gap  
  
Uncle Thorin think it's high time to let them learn about the forge – Fíli because it won't be that long until he'll be joining them (even if it's just for cleaning, watching and learning)and Kíli because he and his brother refuse to be separated for too long. Thorin and their mother see no harm in Kíli tagging along because it gives Dís some time to herself that she sorely needs. Fíli isn't so sure he wants to be down in a smithy for the day because he's seen and smelt Uncle Thorin when he arrives home after a long day, soot and sweat in his hair, beard and clothes. Maybe that's why Kíli's excited, still of an age where dirt sings her siren song even if it means being wrestled into a bath at the end of the day. There's no funnier sight than watching Kíli trying to stop himself from landing in the water, clawing at the air and sides of the tub as Fíli roars with laughter from the doorway.  
  
He's learned how to accept baths with a quiet sort of disgruntled dignity.  
  
If he's honest, the thought of letting Kíli in a forge is terrifying because it's _Kíli_ and he still looks so young, at a gangly awkward stage with big ears and feet, tripping over himself, clattering around the house and knocking stuff over. Forges are full of sharp weapons or heavy things and he can all too easily picture Kíli banging into something and ending up skewered or buried under metal.  
  
“You look after him today,” his mother says sternly with folded arms once she's deemed them presentable to the outside world.  
  
“I promise mother,” Fíli replies, gripping Kíli's hand in his. “I'll make sure he comes back in one piece.” He hopes he sounds reassuring, it's hard to tell but she lets them go with a final kiss on the forehead that they both wipe away as soon as the door is shut behind them.  
  
“D'you think uncle will let me make a sword?” Kíli asks, earnest and so hopeful that Fíli wants to hit him and hug him at the same time.  
  
“You're an idiot,” he mutters, ignoring the protests as he drags his brother along, “uncle'll tan our backsides if we're late.”  
  
**iii**  
Weapons training is essential for every prince and when it's finally Kíli's turn to join his older brother, Thorin and Dwalin on the training grounds he's too excited to sleep, trading whispers that aren't really whispers with his brother to the point that their mother knocks on the door and hisses that it's time for bed or Kíli will be waiting at least another year. They both hide under the blankets until they're sure she's gone and then Kíli is creeping out of his bed and into Fíli's so they can keep giggling and talking about all the weapons he might be able to try. Eventually they fall asleep and when Thorin strides in to wake them Kíli is slobbering into Fíli's ear, clearly having been in the midst of speaking when sleep finally claimed him. It makes him remember Frerin with a sudden ache and when he wakes the boys he's gentler than usual, tickling their bare feet beneath the blankets until they can't stifle their laughter.  
  
“Hurry up and get dressed and eat breakfast, I'll meet you both down there. Fíli lad, you know where you're going.” Thorin commands once they're on their feet and stumbling around. “And make sure your brother doesn't look like a bag of rags.”  
  
The last command he feels is a lost cause because Kíli is a whirlwind, always in motion with his braids loose and hair knotted in moments, looking for the next thing he can throw himself into. One day Thorin will let it slip that he was the same when he could get away with it, always scampering around and getting Frerin and Dís into trouble, always the one who took the blame for it too. Never as wild though but it was a different place, a different time; he wonders if his nephews would be just as wild in Erebor, diving into piles of gold or chasing each other around the throne, sassing elven dignitaries.  
  
He leaves the boys to it, letting them wolf down breakfast with their mother and allowing her to tame their wild hair – they always say he's too rough and pout at him whenever he tries to do it despite the fact that they will quite happily yank at his hair and braids if they want his attention. Such spoiled little buggers, the pair of them. He says his goodbye to his sister, promises to have them home for dinner and to make sure they don't get hurt by the time the boys arrive at the table. He watches a look pass between his sister and her eldest child; these days their mother doesn't need to open her mouth, it's just a look she gives Fíli that he understands. Kíli's old enough now to resent being coddled at certain points of his life, sullen silences replacing childish tantrums and today isn't a day for petulance when they're off to a place of weapons and armour.  
  
He hears his nephews before he sees them, favours them with a stern look because he can't just be their uncle today, he has to be a leader. This is a solemn tradition, not a game, not a time for them to pretend they're warriors of old and Kíli catches on quick enough as he stares with wide eyes until his brother gives him a shove forward.  
  
When Thorin puts a bow in his hands – no shame in a bow, not one of sturdy dwarven make anyway – and starts to correct his younger nephew's grip he can forget the nagging loss that's dogged him since the day Smaug came.  
  
**iv**  
Mister Dwalin is the one in charge of their survival training because he's the best at it and no one is about to argue with the tattoos, scars and ruined ear. Or his deadly knuckledusters. They've both been camping together but never too far, often with other friends or with family to sleep out under the stars where they learn how to build fires and make snares, skinning rabbits, gutting fish, plucking birds. Kíli is always a little smug once he gets better with his bow because it's more practical for hunting.  
  
Fíli just pulls at an ear so it forms a point and calls him an elf.  
  
This time though, this time they're given the bare minimum of supplies, Dwalin clapping a giant hand on their shoulders when he says they're spending a few days out in the woods, far from home, leading them around and around until they have no idea where they are. That's the whole point, finding their way back. Kíli looks faintly worried about the whole idea but he covers it well – only their mother, uncle and Fíli can read his expressions and Fíli knows them best of all. He digs his elbow into his little brother's side as Dwalin rambles on about when he was a lad and did this with Balin, sharing a grin.  
  
“You two,” Dwalin finally says, turning and clapping them on the shoulders, “you can do this. Fíli you look after him.”  
  
It's impossible to be anything but serious when dark eyes stare them down, eyes that have known dragon fire and battles against orcs none will speak of in great detail.  
  
“I promise, I'll make sure we both get home safe and sound,” Fíli vows and satisfied, Dwalin marches off, the brothers watching him until he's a speck in the distance.  
  
“Now what?” Kíli asks, impatient and twitching with nervous energy.  
  
“Dinner?” Fíli suggests with Kíli already getting his bow and arrow at the ready.  
  
Hunting is slow in the unfamiliar forest and thanks to recent rain it takes so long to light their fire that they have numb fingers, almost useless for skinning the scrawny rabbits so they eat in the dark and what Fíli wouldn't give for his comfy bed or some vegetables – Dwalin has a different idea of the bare essentials to them it would seem. Maybe they're lucky they've got clothes and weapons. Kíli volunteers to take the first watch and sure, it's surprising but he says nothing and enjoys getting a few hours of rest until he's being shaken awake to take Kili's spot by the fire, staring out into the darkness as he whittles away at a lump of wood to keep him awake. A foot away he can hear Kíli's teeth chattering and the rustling of the blankets as he tries to keep himself warm, ending up wrapped up in it with his arms and legs pinned to his sides.  
  
“C'mere you useless lump,” Fíli grumbles without meaning it and only because it helps him to cover his laughter, watching Kíli untangle himself and stomp over to the fire, throwing himself down against Fíli with a huff. Fíli abandons his whittling to rub his little brother's shoulder until he's no longer shivering, snoring happily (and slobbering, honestly he better grow out of this habit by the time he's bedding girls or he'll be laughed out of Ered Luin) until it's dawn. Kíli leads the way to a stream to catch trout for breakfast, both of them chattering happily as they figure out what direction home is.  
  
**v**  
“Mind your brother,” Dís says at the door of their home that, hopefully, will not be home again. Kíli groans and rolls his eyes when she says it, cupping their chins. Her barely bearded boys who are being stolen from her all too quickly – by Mahal, Kíli only has stubble and she could curse her brother for this mad quest but she understands and knows she cannot stop her sons from following. Thorin is more than just their uncle; he is their king and they are his only heirs.  
  
They're eighty-two and seventy-seven and soon they will be further away from her than they have ever been.  
  
“I'm not a dwarfling now mother,” Kíli complains but he's beaming at their mother, cheeky as ever.  
  
“Kíli.” Her tone tries for stern but it's warm, exasperated and achingly maternal, the voice of a mother who has lost too much and cannot stand to lose more, a woman who has mourned a home, grandfather and father, brother and husband. “Fíli you make sure he stays out of trouble.”  
  
“Can't make any promises, I bumped him down the stairs one too many times.”  
  
“I can look after myself – I can fight, I can hunt-” Kíli interrupts, elbowing Fíli.  
  
“Well you can look after each other then,” she says as a compromise and that seems to make Kíli happier.  
  
They have strong arms from going down the mines with Thorin, from hammering at metal alongside him and training at arms. When they hug her they lift her up off her feet until she's laughing despite herself, a braided moustache pressing a kiss to one cheek, the rasp of stubble against the other. She shouldn't keep them but she is selfish and wants to hide her boys away from this world so it will never tarnish them but nothing good will come of that and even though they'll always be her babies, she has to let them go, has to let them be who they're meant to be.  
  
“I love you both,” she tells them fiercely, “I'm so proud of you.”  
  
“We know mother,” Fíli begins and he'll make a fine king one day with his broad shoulders and noble bearing.  
  
“We love you too,” Kíli tells her with that gentleness that can be so out of place compared to the rest of his wild energy.  
  
She looks at them, kisses their foreheads one last time and sends them off to get their ponies so they won't be late. She is one of Durin's folk, she is Dís, daughter of kings under the mountain so she swallows the lump in her throat and watches the matching silver hair clasps glinting in the dawn light, the ones she forged herself when she was to be married, the ones she wore every day until her husband was gone.  
  
“Look after them,” she whispers to no one, lingering in the doorway. She doesn't know what to do with an empty house after all these years.  
  
**+i**  
It's not so surprising that they come down with colds and worse on the journey, even their uncle has days where his nose won't stop running, his throat hoarse before he's even started shouting commands. Those nights Fíli and Kíli both end up on either side of him when it's time to sleep, pretending that they just need someone to talk to or that they need some reassurance (and sometimes that's not a lie, this is the first real adventure and it's so _real_ that it can be terrifying) and Thorin says nothing, lets them sling arms and legs around him like they did when they were very small and all three of them say nothing about Thorin's shivers even beneath blankets and heavy coats.  
  
Kíli gets some coughs and sneezes, almost shoots himself in the foot hunting hares one day when a sneezing fit strikes at the worst possible moment and his brother almost pisses himself laughing. Kíli punches him in the arm for that but they end up back at camp with dinner, laughing and smiling. Because they always try to smile when they're ill just so Thorin has one less thing to worry about. Worse than their mother he is and they snigger about it beneath their shared blankets until someone tells them to shut up and get some sleep.  
  
Fíli gets sick though after days and days of rain, a horrible hacking cough, pale but for his flushed cheeks. He swings between boiling hot and freezing cold and doesn't complain when Oín and Bilbo hand over foul smelling herbal concoctions for him to gulp down. They keep moving because they don't have time to stop and Thorin doesn't have to say anything to Kíli because they're brothers, only five years between them but he does, the hand on Kíli's arm almost painful but the look in his eye is worse.  
  
“You look after him,” he commands and Kíli is nodding before his uncle has finished speaking, shouldering both their packs and keeping one arm around his brother at all times. They make camp earlier, he spoon-feeds his brother – teasing, because Fíli isn't entirely out of it and his own worries ease when he sees his brother's smile – and tucks the blankets around them securely at night, both their coats and later Thorin's heavy around them. It's worth the sore back and shoulders and sweaty clothes when Fíli's cough eases, the colour returning to his cheeks; the worry lines around Thorin's eyes are less pronounced, the set of his mouth a little less grim.  
  
Kíli doesn't mind taking care of his brother until he's his usual self again – after all, Fíli's been looking out for him since he was born.


End file.
